


The Beginning of Always

by hellhoundtheory



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Undercover, Undercover As Gay, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-02-18 22:38:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2364569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundtheory/pseuds/hellhoundtheory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky goes to work with the new SHIELD the moment he can. Where Bucky goes, Steve follows. He just didn't think that would mean pretending to be a couple after people start to go missing at a scenic couples' retreat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from a Dante quote- “Remember tonight... for it is the beginning of always”

“We need you on an 0-8-4. Deep cover.” He doesn’t apologize for calling Steve in not three hours after he got back from another mission. Steve at least expected an offer of coffee from the man who had once carried his Captain America trading cards in his pocket along with a heap of hero-worship. But Coulson’s office is dark and cluttered with papers and his tone is weary. 

“Where?” Steve responds without thinking, not even sitting down as he steps into Coulson’s office—one of the first ones above ground since the main SHIELD base of operations had moved from the Playground to New York. 

While he still liked it better than he had liked Fury’s glass cage of an office, he mostly resents the idea of SHIELD’s renaissance in any sense. There was a job to be done, and he would help wherever he could, but he wouldn’t be on SHIELD’s retainer if it weren’t for Bucky insisting that _he_ had to make something up to the whole world. Steve wouldn’t let Bucky navigate the waters of this organization alone; that’s for sure. 

“Vermont. Caledonia. Blue Mountain Couples’ Retreat,” A file is shoved into his hands, and he can tell that Phil’s pissed, even if it’s not at him, “We sent in a team and they fell victim to the 0-8-4. I’m not going to put anyone else at risk who can’t handle it.”

“What’s happening there?”

“Couples are going missing. We tried to get our team in as staff, but no matter the fact that we threw actual PhD trained therapists at them, the administration said that they were already more-than-well-staffed, even though they’ve been taking on larger and larger numbers of clients at a time. Everything checks out, taxes, employees are all citizens who have existed for years and have high school friends and went to a college and have their pictures in the yearbook. No alarm bells. Except for the missing couples.”

“Who do you want me to work with? Natasha’s still in Belarus cleaning up our last mission.” A mission Steve is burnt out from, having spent weeks squatting in a hovel on the border—the only reprieve being fighting off the mercenary lackeys of the HYDRA cell they thought they had taken down—as they waited for transport to become available. But he wouldn’t tell Coulson that. Not when the man was looking like he’d rip out what hair he had left, and when it was more tinged with gray than anything. 

Phil shakes his head, “As capable as Agent Romanoff is, I need to send you in with Barnes.”

Steve hums in acknowledgement, meeting Coulson’s tired eyes, “You’re serious about safety on this one.” He doesn’t even think about the implications of going in on this specific mission with him. Because he knows covertcy—much as Natasha would disagree—using a couple that stands out rather than a bland heterosexual couple was a risk to the op itself. Clearly they were a last resort. 

“I can’t lose any more people. Not to another damn 0-8-4,” Coulson’s fist meets his desk and Steve supsects that his hand was hurt more than the mahogany, “I’m bringing Barnes in from—well, you don’t have clearance to know where he was, but be assured he’ll be meeting you at the airport at 0600 tomorrow.”

“He won’t be home first?” He and Steve share an apartment, at least in name. They had mostly made the decision out of habit when they started working out of the New York office of SHIELD, which was now the main branch, as they were no longer government sanctioned. But the apartment was too big and modern and could barely be called a home, especially since neither of them were ever there. While Steve had been in Belarus for four weeks, and then Chechnya before that, Bucky had been in—well, wherever he was—for three months now. At least if the retreat was really a retreat, they might get a chance to rest, even have a decent conversation. 

_I haven’t spoken to him since before Chechnya. What’s that been? A month and a half?_

Coulson shakes his head, “It’s still hours until his next check-in according to his handler. And then it’s a long flight after that. I’ll tell him to sleep on the plane here so that you can take your flight to solidify your identities. Your equipment will be there with you on the plane.” Steve sighs and doesn’t mention the fact that Bucky didn’t sleep on planes. “But it’s low-tech. You’ll get mesh camouflaging masks, but they check the rooms and bags. Sneaking in surveillance equipment, no matter how well hidden, was what betrayed them last time.” 

“Contact lenses?” Steve knew there were lenses they could wear to see through those mesh masks, and it would make working as a team a hell of a lot easier if he could read Bucky’s expression on _his_ face and not a stranger’s. 

“Of course. We’ll also have someone pull appropriate wardrobe for your aliases. Just pack the basics for yourself. No weapons.”

Another file is jutted at him and Steve struggles to grab it before Phil lets go of it, as he’s already typing on his computer with one hand and reaching for his phone in the other. It’s almost a sign to go, but Coulson pauses with the phone on one ear, “You’ll be a couple struggling through a long engagement. That gives you the best chance at not being grabbed, since all the couples gone missing thus far have been heterosexual and already married. It’s Vermont though, so you won’t be the only ones.” And that’s about all the words of comfort Steve gets before Coulson’s secretary is hustling him out and Steve is in the elevator down to the lobby, barely aware of how he got there. 

He rides his motorcycle back to the apartment and almost forgets to put down the kickstand when he parks it in the garage. _Definitely taking the subway to the airport,_ he thinks blearily as he unlocks the door with fumbling fingers.

It doesn’t take him long before he’s passed out on his bed, dead to the world until 1800, still twelve hours before he leaves. So, Steve orders enough food for three people and tries not to feel bad as he eats all of it—their meager diet on-mission hadn’t been enough for his metabolism—and then goes back to sleep.

He has plenty of time to make it to the airport once he wakes up, and Bucky is already in the small aircraft when he gets there, head pillowed in the crook of his arm on the small table situated between two seats. Steve goes to tell the pilot that they’re all set and makes a little bit of small talk with Rob—he’s taken too many flights with new SHIELD; he’s starting to recognize the pilots—before excusing himself to sit across from Bucky.

“Long time no see,” he muses, putting a coffee in front of Bucky’s mussed head of brown hair. It had grown out since Steve had cut it last, and now reaches the bottom of Bucky’s ears. He wonders if he’d be able to cut it before they made it to Vermont. He had only briefly read their files, but Bucky’s alias didn’t seem the type to let his hair grow out, at least not without some serious styling. 

Bucky finally lifts his face from his arms and Steve can see that it’s not just his hair that has grown out, but that his usual stubble had turned into almost a beard, making him seem even more unkempt.

“Yeah, well,” Is Bucky’s only response. It’s hard for Steve to bite back the words _I missed you,_ but he does, because even with Bucky right in front of him, it feels more like he’s still missing his best friend. 

“So, you gonna tell me why I was pulled out of a mission that was supposed to last another two months?” Steve pushes his files at him, already too fed up with Bucky’s desire to work himself to death and never come home to bother summarizing for him.

He sips his coffee as Bucky makes a noncommittal grunt and starts reading.

“Shit.” Bucky flips to the file with their aliases after Steve hums his agreement. Six couples missing in four months gave him about the same reaction

“Why is this an 0-8-4? Isn’t there a code for this sort of thing?”

Steve shrugs, “I think the new SHIELD codes are still evolving to include everything under the sun. 0-8-4 is the only one that stuck so far.”

Bucky snorts, “Yeah, okay.”

And that’s all Steve gets out of him for half an hour. He reads and rereads his own alias’ file as Bucky does the same. Eventually, Bucky finishes his coffee and stares at Steve expectantly. 

“Come on, Steve Richards. We need to be a couple. Couples talk.”

“No, James Bradford. We need to be a fighting couple. I think our regular personalities should be just fine for that.” Steve looks back to his file, ignoring the way the haphazard smirk on Bucky’s face makes his teeth grind. There was a good reason they’ve both been avoiding being home at the same time, and Steve’s starting to think that he didn’t miss Bucky so much as he missed the idea of Bucky. 

“Don’t be dumb, Steve. You know we need to practice this crap together or it won’t seem real.”

Steve sighs, “Fine. I was in the army, stationed in Italy where you were living in Vicenza for your study abroad term, on exchange from Pace University where you were studying Languages and Cultures.”

“Modern Languages and Cultures,” Bucky corrects, looking smug even through the dark shadows of his beard and the dim lighting in the plane. 

“And we fell deeply in love when we met in Milan when I was on leave. When you returned to New York to finish your degree we maintained a long-distance relationship until I finished my career with the army. I surprised you at your commencement and proposed. We still haven’t gotten around to getting married.”

“Where’s the romance? We met in the Santa Maria della Grazie church and then spent the day walking around the city, laughing as we traversed the canals and talked about architecture, a secret love we both share.” Steve looks blearily at the file. None of this was in it, “We had Costoletta alla Milanese for dinner and made love on the train back to Vicenza.”

“That’s a lot of detail,” Steve says, staring down at the bare bones of the file and wondering how Bucky had extrapolated an entire life from it with just some googling on his phone.

“And you’d sneak off base to see me at university, we’d annoy the hell out of my host family, a short, fiery woman named Giuseppa and her husband Demetrio whose kids had all gone off to live their own lives, so they started hosting exchange students to fill their empty nest. We’d always say ciao when signing off Skype conversations, and your proposal was very romantic because you had just gotten off the plane from Italy and you were still wearing your uniform. We’ve lived in New York since then. I work as an interpreter and translator for the UN and you work for a security firm that services a lot of the law firms in the city.”

Steve whistles, “You’re better at this than I am.”

“I know.” The smirk is the only thing that reminds Steve of who Bucky used to be, and then it’s gone. Steve sighs and diligently writes down the story; Bucky makes them practice the story of how they met, each of them adding more detail as they go. They work well together; they always have. But since Bucky decided to join SHIELD only a few months after he had gotten back on an even keel—after he was sort of, almost, _Bucky_ again—well, he and Steve hadn’t been on the best of terms. 

By the time they land they’ve got a story down and gone through their available equipment and the clothes packed for them. Steve cuts Bucky’s hair while he shaves and then they separate to change into their alias’ clothing, coming back out with their new faces on.

“Yeah, okay, that’s weird. I’m putting on the contacts,” Bucky says. Steve chuckles and hums his agreement, going into the bathroom after Bucky to put in his own contacts. Not recognizing Bucky was strange in and of itself, but he really didn’t like how it unsettled something in his chest, like something was profoundly wrong about replacing his best friend’s face for another.

“But if we’re both wearing the contacts, how can one of us tell if the masks stop working?” Steve points out after their both sitting down for landing, turbulence having forced them back to their seats.

Bucky shrugs, “If they stop working, we’re fucked either way, but I suppose we should always put them on before putting on the contacts.”

They agree that doing that is probably the best way to avoid a malfunction and parsed some more details. Steve’s alias was an orphan and Bucky, or ‘James,’ came from a middle class family and had a sister who was a nurse. 

Bucky says that the sister’s name should be Rebecca and Steve doesn’t argue, especially not with the smile he feels twitching at his lips. While Bucky was very much himself—in the sense of having his memories—the Bucky he had seen since they started working at the new SHIELD had been colder, too focused on making up for his past to notice that he was barely recognizable to Steve.

And just when Steve thought they had making progress, they land, and Bucky is in mission mode again, from the car rental place all the way to the Blue Mountain Couples’ Retreat, where they and their belongings are thoroughly searched while Bertha Petropoulos, the retreat’s main administrator, schmoozes them about their cabin’s amenities and the group and individual counseling sessions. Bucky makes a face at that and Steve elbows him. 

Apparently, the administrator can sense the tension in their friendship and interprets it as she should, “You guys will have a lot to benefit from here. Our diverse and respectful staff will tailor a plan specifically to your needs, and seeing other couples going through the same stages makes you feel so much less alone. I should know, my husband and I make a point to test out any additions to our array of services. Matt’s the main counselor here. This started out as a pet project and became our livelihoods. It’s always great to see such young couples here.”

She leaves them alone as they retrieve their bags back from the security goons—three knives had been confiscated in total, and Steve knew Bucky had somehow got a gun past them because Bucky didn’t go anywhere unarmed. But not a moment later they’re being swept back into Bertha’s tide of exuberance as she shows them to their cabin after a quick tour of the main building, “Now you two will mostly be interacting with our counseling staff, but if you have any problems, you know where my office is. And don’t hesitate to come by even if you don’t have problems! I get lonely with all my paperwork.” Steve tries his best to smile politely as he puts his bag on the queen bed and takes in the rustic atmosphere of their cabin. She seems to take the hint of Bucky outright ignoring her to explore the bathroom and finishes, “Alright, I’ll leave you kids to it. Be sure to be back at the cafeteria for lunch to meet everyone else before counseling. It’s taco Tuesday!”

Steve groans internally as he waves her out with a, “Thank you, it was lovely meeting you!”

Bucky comes back into the bedroom the moment she leaves. Steve snorts, “I’m supposed to be the veteran right? Not you. You’re an interpreter, be more social!”

“Please. Those UN people sit in a room all day and talk into a headset at rapidfire speeds. I’m supposed to be recalcitrant. You work with people all day; you’re Joe Regular the security guy who fancy lawyers like so much that they always get you a coffee when their secretaries make a run.”

He hangs up some of the nicer shirts from both their suitcases, knowing that Bucky wouldn’t do a thing to keep his clothes neat if Steve was there—because Steve would always do it for him before Bucky would even think about doing it himself. 

After putting his bag on the floor, Bucky sprawls out on that side of the bed and closes his eyes, “Steve, you do realize that at some point we’re going to have to act like a couple, right? I mean, we’re good for now, because healthy couples don’t usually come to these things. But like, we’re supposed to make progress or whatever. We kind of have to find our feet sometime. And that means, like couple-y stuff.”

“Care to be more specific?” Steve chuckles as he finishes unpacking his bag and takes the other side of the bed. 

Bucky smirks, eyes still closed, “Not really.”

“Considering as we’re probably going to have to do these, couple-y things, maybe you should be.”

Rolling towards him and running a hand over his face, Bucky meets Steve’s eyes and props himself up on one elbow, “Fine. Kissing things. Like PDA. Feeding each other stuff. I don’t know, whatever normal people do. Couple-y things.”

“And now that we’ve used our words…” Steve says in his most patronizing tone of voice, knowing it would drive Bucky to the edge of his patience.

“Fuck you. I’m taking a nap. Wake me up when we have to go to therapy.”

“Counseling. But lunch first.” 

“Yeah. That thing.”

Steve chuckles, “Okay, I’m going to go explore a bit before ‘that thing.’” 

He ignores the fact of something—probably a pillow—being flung at the door as he’s closing it, chuckling quietly to himself and hoping that Bucky gets the sleep he so evidently needed. 

Of course, the moment he’s a foot from the door, he’s met with two smiling faces, “Hi! I’m Rachel!”

“And I’m Charleen, but you can call me Charlie.” Two hands are extended towards him to shake and Steve tries his best to shake both their hands as quickly as he can, while trying not to seem as overwhelmed as he feels by the excess of personality introducing themselves to him.

“Sorry for the ambush, but we and another pair are sort of the only non-straight folk here and it’s so lovely to see more couples like us seeking help through retreats.”

“Wow, I guess you folks really did drink the kool-aid,” Is what comes out of his mouth, and entirely not what he meant to say. 

But, luckily, they’re laughing themselves to stitches and looking on him fondly, “You’ll get it in a few days. This stuff really does work. We’re leaving Friday, but we can’t wait to get to know you and your…” She trails off, waiting for the appropriate noun.

“Fiancé,” He supplies for her, the word sounding strange in his mouth no matter how many times he and Bucky had said it on the flight and the drive over. 

“Ah, when did you get engaged?”

Steve feigns sheepishness, “Uh, three years ago.”

They nod their heads, “Waiting for same-sex marriage in your state, or…?”

“Actually, it was passed just a month after I proposed, but we weren’t quite ready. And I guess we’ve just been putting it off as James and I have been building our careers.”

_Thank god for thorough googling._

“And now you’re not sure why you wanted to get married in the first place?” Rachel extrapolates, saving Steve from trying to make up another excuse. He nods shyly, and the two women give him almost-pitying looks.

“Well, we got married the moment North Carolina got its shit together, and we’ve been struggling for two years to capture everything we had before we got married,” Charlie finishes, reaching her arm across Rachel’s shoulders and squeezing the slighter woman to her side, “A week here and we’ve got all our chemistry back. It’s like when we fell in love again.”

“That’s really reassuring to hear,” Steve says, hoping his general earnestness would make him seem as relieved as he meant to sound.

“And why’s yours hiding?”

“Napping. Traveling makes him tired, which is strange thing to say about a guy who speaks as many languages as he does, but what can you do?” Steve falls into the lies more naturally than he expected and he has them eating out of the palm of his hand as they show him around the cabins and walking trails owned by the facility.

“There’s a lot of lovely nature activities. I assume that’s why you chose this retreat?”

“Part of the reason,” Steve makes up on the fly, “Neither of us have been to Vermont before either, and we had been planning on staying in one of those cute BnBs—when James and I could finally get vacation time, that is—until we saw the advertisement for this place.”

“I can’t wait to meet your James. He seems lovely. If he’s half as handsome as you, I’m sure you’ll get a lot of eyes from the unhappier wives,” Rachel postulates with a casual hand on his shoulder. 

“Well, except us,” Charlie corrected. 

“I don’t think those wives will be disappointed with Bu-James,” He finds himself chuckling, almost letting the wrong name slip for whatever reason. 

“At least you have that going for you. Rachel and I hadn’t had sex for months before we came here!” Steve splutters and coughs, not because he was unused to talking about sex—he had been in the army, after all—but because he hadn’t expected it. Sexual activity was _not_ what he typically assumed from an off-handed comment about attractiveness. Bucky was physically attractive; it was an objective statement. A metal arm—disguised in one of Stark’s synthetic skin layers—and years of torture hadn’t changed that.

“Oh no, not you too!” Rachel chuckles, hand back on his shoulder, squeezing sympathetically, “Don’t worry, the counselors here are pretty good at helping with that. You’ll be in bunny-mode by the end of this, no worries.”

They had circled back to the cabins at this point, and Steve notices his own. He beats a hasty retreat after that, telling him that he and James looked forward to seeing them at lunch. 

“We’ll introduce you to Brett and Thomas. They’ll tell you exactly how much they’ve been doing it since Doc Petropoulos helped them out!” Charlie cackles as they walk away.

Steve has to physically shake himself to rid himself of the sinking feeling in his gut before he can quietly open the door to the cabin. It’s half past eleven and they still have time before they need to go to lunch. He sees Bucky’s eyes open a slit before closing again, and Steve makes his way to the bathroom to rewet his contacts. Not because his eyes were really that dry, but because he needed an excuse to be alone for a minute.

When he comes back out, Bucky is awake and sitting up, “So how were your new friends?”

Steve shrugs, “They seem nice, a little hopped up on this place, though. I think they could write their own advertisement for it.”

“Well, maybe it actually works. You know, for the people who don’t go missing.”

Humming his agreement, Steve sits on the bed, about to grab his tablet and check the news when Bucky interrupts him, “Get any intel on the 0-8-4?”

“Nope. They didn’t even say anything about people going missing. They seemed to care more about how much sex they were having since coming here. Which is probably not a symptom of whatever’s snatching these couples.”

“Oh, you never know. Maybe it’s a cult that’s sacrificing couples to fertility gods after they find the magic again.”

“Because two trained SHIELD agents couldn’t take on a cult?”

“If there are enough members, probably not.”

“Well, I’m not going to hope for cult, because that means those agents and all those couples are dead.”

Bucky makes a soft noise of agreement, “Yeah, no, hopefully all these people are alive. I mean, six couples over four months? Plus the agents two weeks ago.”

“We need to figure this out before anyone else is taken,” Steve chews on his lip. 

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, “But for now, we have to go eat tacos and make nice with the sitting ducks.”

Sighing, Steve makes his way to the door, “I have a feeling that means I’m going to make nice and you’re going to pull what you did with Bertha earlier. Recalcitrant my ass.”

“Oh, speaking of ass, we should probably figure out who tops before the real gay people quiz us.”

“What?” 

“You know. Who puts what in what? It’s pretty simple with straight people, but boys have the same parts so they—”

Steve cuts him off, “Yes, I know. We lived in a neighborhood full of people doing that and I might have been a little deaf but I wasn’t _that_ deaf. But why does it matter?”

“People who are having sex are talking about sex and thinking about sex,” Bucky says impatiently, as if he’s educating a two year old “That’s just how it is. Just because we’re not having it doesn’t mean we aren’t going to have to answer questions about it.”

Huffing, Steve waves a hand to stop him, “Fine. How about both?”

“Both what?”  
“We, like, take turns or whatever.”

“Oh, I was just asking your opinion out of courtesy. I’m definitely topping.” And Steve can’t argue the point because they’re leaving the cabin and there are a bunch of couples around, walking over to lunch, some of whom are already making a beeline towards them. 

Steve’s going to get tired of meeting new people fast.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The course of Steve and Bucky's first day at the couples' retreat never did run smooth.

The tacos are quite good. For the amount of money people spend on this place—and the risk of going missing—they probably should be. He and Bucky sit and eat their lunch with Rachel and Charlie, along with Brett and Thomas. If Steve thought he and Bucky had been an unlikely friendship when Steve was still scrawny, he would have to concede that these two made an even stranger couple. Brett, a lanky kid—apparently thirty, but he still looked like a kid—with flaming red hair and skin mostly covered with innumerable freckles, and Thomas, a tall, well-muscled darker man who would be intimidating if he didn’t laugh so heartily and so often. 

They had met working on a cruise liner, and apparently still worked with the same company. Bucky-as-James chuckles and makes an offhanded comment about never being able to work with Steve, throwing Steve a smirk because he knew Steve couldn’t respond to the comment without blowing their covers. Thomas and Brett just snicker at Bucky’s antics and say that they work on completely different ends of the ship and never see each other anyways. 

All too soon they’re gathering for group counseling and they’re in a circle of chairs conveniently set up in an atrium off the side of the cafeteria. Introductions are made to the other couples in the group, two of whom seem to be new, and the rest of whom act as if they’re used to reciting their names and how they met. Steve and Bucky perform a rambling explanation of their faux torrid love affair and receive equal chuckles and gushing ‘awws.’ Either way, people seem to buy it, and he and Bucky are accepted into the therapy circle, encouraged to talk about their feelings, and generally trying their hardest not to do so.

“Steve, James, it’s tradition for newcomers to give a small explanation of their reasons for coming to our retreat. Care to share?”

“Well,” Bucky starts, “We’ve been engaged for three years but never took the plunge to get married.”

“So you’ve plateaued?”

Sighing as if saying it pained him, Bucky agrees, “Yeah, I guess we have.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that,” Steve says, trying to show a divide in their relationship, “I mean, we’re basically married, except for the paperwork. And it’s not a big deal.”

“What if we want to adopt, Steve? Then it’s going to be a big deal,” And Bucky is always going to be better at this than Steve, but at least Steve’s surprise is legitimate, when he sort of looks at his ‘fiancé’ and stutters out a noise of shock. 

“Perhaps hearing other couples talking about similar issues will help; John, Catherine, I know you two have been going through something like that, would you care to help Steve and James out by sharing?”

There’s no talking stick, but it feels like a baton has been passed, and he and Bucky are free to listen, eyes averted from each other. Steve stares at the ground while James looks at him expectantly. The postures seem to work, because they get sympathetic looks from the other couples.

John and Catherine talk about their infertility problems and the strain it imposes on their marriage. Steve can only tangentially see how it’s related, but zoning out gives him a chance to think about false issues to bring up later, during his and Bucky’s private session with one of the counselors—the schedule didn’t say who, but he assumed they would find out. 

Following the other new couples introducing themselves, the group counseling portion of the day is over and they all go as a group on a nature walk, to ‘decompress.’

Bucky knows exactly how to make it seem like they’re fighting, and grips Steve’s elbow, dragging them back from the other couples on the path. Thomas and Brett are only a few steps ahead of them, undoubtedly listening while they pretend to chat with the other new couple, Trisha and Jose. 

“You didn’t tell me you wanted kids.”

The hand on his elbow loosens infinitesimally. Steve realizes that it’s Bucky’s metal hand, disguised much in the same way their faces were, “Well, you’re the one who proposed, I mean why else do people get a government contract to solidify their relationship if it isn’t to have kids?”

“Maybe it was a gesture of saying, ‘Oh, hey, maybe do you want to spend the rest of our lives together?’ Not ‘come adopt small fragile humans with me!’” Steve hisses. 

For a moment he wonders if he would have had kids with Peggy. And he almost isn’t sure he would have, not if Bucky wasn’t right beside him with a dame and Bucky Juniors of his own. 

“Do you really not want kids?” And Steve’s not even sure Bucky’s acting, though the question comes out more disappointed than anything, so it probably is. Because why would Bucky care if he wanted kids? 

“Do you really want them now?” Steve questions under his breath with a note of panic, trying to make their argument more believable.

“Not _now_. But you know, before I start getting grey hair.”

“I’m fairly certain you’re not going to go gray,” Steve starts, speaking quite literally as he wasn’t sure they _could_ , “Anytime soon, that is,” He corrects himself for anyone listening in (the couples in front of them had stopped pretending to talk a while ago). 

“That’s not the point, Steve.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh that he thinks is almost too much from an acting standpoint, “The point is that we’re not talking about this now.”

And that’s enough for them to spend the rest of the nature walk silent, thank goodness, because Steve was running out of convincing fake arguments. At the end of the nature walk, there are some trust exercises in a clearing and then they’re sent off for their couple’s therapy. He and Bucky have two hours before they have to do anything. Bucky takes a nap—whispering to Steve that he’s keeping up appearances, even though Steve knows he’s really still tired—and Steve spends some more time with some of the couples they met, and finds that the lies come easier and easier the more he talks about him and Bucky. 

James. 

It was analogous, for him, the friendship he had with Bucky and the relationship his alias and James had. He could use stories from his and Bucky’s past, albeit heavily revised stories, but he could almost pretend like he was a part of this fictional couple. A lot of the stories the other couples had weren’t even that different to his original stories. 

That was normal, though. Couples themselves had to be friends or they wouldn’t be able to function. He and Bucky could simply insert a romantic aspect into their friendship and everyone would see it as a relationship. It was that simple. 

But when it came time for their therapy session, and Bucky and Steve trudged over to the main building, he was less than sure of its simplicity. 

Their doctor was the same counselor, Doctor Petropoulos, who had done their group counseling session. Apparently they warranted the big guns. 

“So, we’re going to start out with a basic survey of your partnership. Let’s start with something easy, how sexually active are you?”

Steve can hear Bucky mutter, almost inaudibly, “How is that easy.”

The doctor, though he shouldn’t have been able to, hears the comment, “I take that to mean that you two aren’t sexually active?”

Bucky’s eyebrows go up, and Steve tries to salvage the situation by saying that, “It hasn’t been a big part of our relationship, recently.”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because they’re then caught up in a vicious cycle of the counselor asking them whether they used to be more sexually active, Bucky being his usual self and smirking out yeses, and Steve trying to deny whatever Bucky was saying. Eventually, Bucky saw his plight and segued them over to the adoption issue, which is another half-hour of Steve being the bad guy and admitting that he isn’t sure he wants kids.

Steve had never been so unsure of whether they were having a real argument or not when he saw Bucky’s eyes flicker with something at Steve’s admission. Of course, if they were having the argument for real, it would have been in a much different context, but that didn’t seem to matter. 

He feels like he’s gone through the wringer after just an hour, when the doctor says their time is up and that their assignments for tonight were to “Try to rekindle the romance,” and an ambiguous comment that, “I’ll know if you didn’t do your homework. Much like a schoolteacher, I can usually tell.”

And then they’re released to go to dinner, where they’re mobbed by couple talk and don’t have a moment to themselves. Steve finds himself staring at Bucky out of the corner of his eye, trying to discern whether their session had thrown him off as much as it had Steve. 

But Bucky, as always, is unflappable, and he can’t talk to him until they’re outside their cabin and Bucky pulls him around by his shoulders, away from the front door, pressing them together. To anyone else, in the dim light, it would look like they were pressed close for entirely different reasons. Their breath mingles in the air, making it seem humid and stifling.

“Am I the only one who thought his comment about knowing whether we did our homework was more than a little creepy?”

“Uh, well, yeah, it was kind of invasive, but why…” Steve looks away, swallowing, trying not to let the closeness affect him. 

Bucky shushes him, “What if he actually _knew_?”

Screwing up his eyes, Steve thinks back to the seemingly-offhanded remark, “Like cameras.”

Nodding his confirmation, Bucky hisses “Yeah. Like cameras.”

~  
“Yep,” Bucky confirms as he finishes a discrete sweep of their cabin, coming back out to lean on the wall next to Steve, “Bastards put in video. No audio, though, from what I could see.”

“Well, our covers would have been blown already if there had been audio. We haven’t exactly been subtle about not being who we are. But I guess we’re not taking off the masks anytime soon.”

Bucky sighs, “Not a chance. We’re stuck in these puppies. Though if you value any of your privacy, the bathroom is unmonitored. Thank god for small favors.”

“I feel like we should be used to the whole Big Brother thing by now, working for SHIELD and all, but this is all a little too much.”

“SHIELD is more like the book,” Bucky grunts, “This is like the show. But creepier, because we didn’t sign up for this shit.”

“There’s a show?”

And then Bucky’s chuckling and clapping him on the back, “Come on buddy, let’s go have pretend to have a giant fight about babies.”

Steve chuckles as they enter the cabin, ever aware of the cameras hidden in the corners facing the bed, “I almost felt like we were actually fighting about it. Honestly, Buck, you’ve got this whole acting thing down.”

“Well, unless you’re telling me that you actually don’t want kids, or a life, or any of that shit, then yeah, we’re not fighting about it.”

“Are you telling me that you want a normal life? Kids and all?” Steve asks, for once hopeful that Bucky had something in life other than ‘Make up for what the Winter Soldier did’ on the mind. Because Bucky thinking about the future past the next mission is all Steve wanted. The Bucky who would have gone back to Brooklyn if Steve hadn’t decided to stay in Europe. 

“No. But I want you to have that.” Bucky’s head is down and he’s barely audible to Steve, who can’t help but let out a bitter laugh.

“How the hell do you think I’m going to find that Bucky? At SHIELD? In Belarus, South America, wherever SHIELD sends me next?”

“I didn’t ask you to come with me to SHIELD. Don’t put that on me.”

Steve unwittingly crowds Bucky towards the wall, voice lowered, “How was I supposed to do that, huh, Buck? Nat’s there, you’re there, hell, Clint’s there, not that I ever see him. Sam and Tony might have gotten out, but everyone else I care about is still _in._ So that’s where I am. You want to leave, I’m right there with you.”

“Well, maybe you and Natalia and her boyfriend should find a way out. Because I’ve got shit to do that has nothing to do with you following me around and throwing your life away.”

Steve sighs, “Bucky, I’m thirty. I’ve got time.” He doesn’t mention that he has no intention of taking it to do anything but stick to his best friend. But it’s all the same to Bucky. 

“Time you should spend like a normal person. The serum was your way out of dying young and alone.” _I wouldn’t have been alone. I had you._ Steve can’t help but think, “I’m giving you another goddamned way out, Steve, why won’t you take it?” 

_Not without you,_ “It’s not a way out, Bucky, it’s you trying to isolate yourself. Don’t make this about me.”

Bucky’s eyes are downcast and the expression marring his face is painfully honest. His words are like a knife, so quick he barely realizes they’ve been in and out until it starts hurting, “It’s always about you.”

Steve can barely breathe or think, but he’s still breathing out, “Funny, I was about to say the same thing about you.”

Shoving Steve away, Bucky goes into the bathroom, closing the door and leaving him in silence. Steve sits on the bed and lets his head fall into his hands. Rubbing at his eyes, he feels the urge to do something, so he grabs his tablet and starts encoding an email to send to SHIELD. He’s almost done when Bucky comes out of the bathroom, freshly showered and water still clinging to his bare chest in droplets that Steve doesn’t let his eyes trace on their path towards his boxers.

“Anything you want to add to our report?” Steve hands him the two versions open splitscreen, one uncoded and one coded. Bucky’s eyes scan the left side as he reads the coded one as quickly as he would the uncoded. 

“Add my resignation after this mission,” Bucky says, handing the tablet back to Steve.

“Bucky…”

“I’ll still help out. Like Sam and Stark. Special shit only. End of the world, our friends are in trouble stuff.”

“I’m not trying to get you to…”

“Well, you did,” Bucky says, grabbing back the tablet, “I assume you want me to add yours too?”

Steve nods his head, “Only if you really want this.”

“I want you to have a goddamn normal life,” he mutters, jaw clenched tightly and brow furrowed in the white light of the screen. 

Grabbing Bucky hand to get him to stop typing, Steve sees him stiffen at the touch, bristling like a cat, “Please don’t do anything you don’t want to do for me. You deserve... you deserve to choose what you do with your life.”

Bucky shakes his hand from Steve’s grip and keeps tapping the screen. 

“I’m not the Red Room or HYDRA, Buck, I don’t want to take away your choices. Please don’t.” Bucky’s still typing, “I’m sorry. Please, just…” Steve doesn’t know what to do. It’s been months since he’s felt this dread, this sense of Bucky doing something not because he wants to, but because Steve had pressured him into the decision. It had always been little things, like what they had for breakfast or whether they went for a run in the morning or in the evening. And Steve had learned how to phrase things so that it was Bucky’s choice.

Apparently he had lost the touch, after so many months away from each other.

Bucky wordlessly hands him back the tablet, and Steve reads the added few lines at the end:

_After the completion of this mission, we will be taking a two month sabbatical and reevaluating our positions within SHIELD._

“I…” Steve lets out a breath, “This is good, Buck. We need a break.”

“I guess all the talk about compromise today did some good,” Bucky smiles, no longer rueful. 

Steve chuckles, “It almost makes it sound like we’re running away together, but…” Bucky ruffles Steve’s short hair and scowls goodheartedly at him, taking the tablet back and sending the report without changing anything.

“Go shower. You smell like the mountains,” Bucky crumples his nose before requisitioning the tablet and thus forcing Steve to either shower or dig through his bag to find the book he was reading. He’s tempted to do the latter to tick Bucky off, but Bucky had made a big decision because of Steve. It was only right Steve got out of Bucky’s hair if he asked Steve to do so, though not in so many words. 

Bucky’s already asleep when Steve gets back. Steve prises the tablet from his hands and pulls the covers over him. He catches Bucky’s eyes opening just a slit and the wry smile twitching at his lips and chuckles before clambering in himself. He checks his email, only to find Natasha’s (coded) message:

_What’s this I hear about you and James riding off into the sunset together?_ She always called Bucky ‘James,’ just like he called her Natalia. It was something from their shared past that Steve didn’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole. 

He replies: _It’s called a sabbatical. You should try it sometime._

Her response is almost immediate: _Barton and I took one pretty recently. Are you and James going to someplace tropical? Or is the Brokeback mountain theme going to continue?_

Steve sighs: _Just because you and Barton like to take time off to do blasphemous things on islands and villas you won from Tony during poker, doesn’t mean that we’re doing the same._

_We can loan you the one named after Jurassic Park. Clint was too scared to go._ Bucky groans from beside him and he sees that Bucky’s propped up on one elbow and smiling at the screen.

Steve offers him the tablet and Bucky shakes his head, “Tell Natalia to go to bed.”

“I’m fairly certain she just woke up. It’s 5 am in Belarus.”

“Then tell her to let us go the fuck to sleep.” Steve obliges, putting Bucky’s words in quotes so that he would get in trouble and not Steve.

_Good to know James is still an inhospitable bed-mate._ Steve feels something twist in his chest that he ignores. 

“We’ll talk to her in the morning. She’s just toying with you at this point.”

“She’s always toying with me. This is Natasha we’re talking about.”

Bucky forcibly turns off the tablet and reaches over him to put it on the nightstand and turn off the light. He leaves his arm slung over Steve’s middle and arranges himself so that his head pillows on Steve’s chest with the muttered excuse of, “Cameras,” but to Steve it still sounds like an excuse.

_We haven’t seen each other in three months. Has he even touched another person since then?_ Bucky’s missions usually involve taking down high-level HYDRA operatives. It didn’t stand to reason that this had been any different, which meant that Bucky had been alone for three months. 

Steve lets his arms wrap around Bucky and he squeezes just a little tighter before closing his eyes and relaxing his muscles one by one. 

Half an hour later Bucky is snoring softly on his chest and Steve is still unable to sleep, mind going over the events of his day and unable to let go of the idea of Bucky not wanting a normal life for himself, when that’s all Steve wants for him. 

He eventually finds sleep by tucking the information in a dark corner of his mind and focusing on the warmth of Bucky against his side, sending out his thanks to the universe that he had that, no matter what the rest of this mission brought.

~  
Steve wakes up to Bucky drooling just a bit onto his neck and his dick aching hard where Bucky’s leg is thrown over him. He realizes it’s normal. Hell it had happened just a few weeks earlier with Natasha, who had laughed it off and called him something vaguely derogatory in Russian, and it wasn’t the first time it had happened with Bucky. Though it was the first time since the war. 

And he could feel Bucky’s dick pressed up against his thigh, just as stiff as his own. It wasn’t a comfort, especially because of the small circles Bucky’s hips were dragging on the clenched muscle of his thigh, seeking friction even in sleep. Because Steve mouth is dry and heat is building in his gut, tense and heavy and driving his hand to reach down. But he can’t; he aborts the motion midway through, gulping down the urge. 

He should wake Bucky up. Leave the bed. Anything. 

Apparently someone above is listening to his thoughts, because Bucky gingerly untangles himself from Steve, all stealth, somehow still under the impression that Steve is asleep, and retreats to the bathroom, closing the door silently.

_Shit._

He thinks about disassembling and assembling his gun, until he remembers the care with which Bucky would assemble and clean his rifle back in the war, the way his fingers would caress the barrel. That avenue barred, he recites baseball statistics in his head until he can feel his erection wavering. The toilet flushes and the faucet runs, so before Bucky can come out of the bathroom and see him half-hard in his boxers, Steve starts to get dressed.

He’s about to put on his shirt when Bucky comes out. Steve could swear he sees Bucky’s eyes trail down his chest, but the gaze is so fleeting that Steve can’t qualify it. 

Bucky coughs, “Bathroom’s free.”

_This is going to be a long day._


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky try to maintain their covers while searching for the missing couples.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been really bad about updating... like really bad. University's hard and I was in all the wrong classes for my skill set. But hey, I've decided to be an English major and that I'm going to get an MFA in screenwriting when I'm done with my undergrad! So next semester I should be able to do the things I enjoy (writing this, as well as other non-fanfiction-y projects) and hopefully bring that GPA back up. And after another semester of Russian I might start adding more Russian parts into my stories too. And with more time spent writing these will get better; I'm a little out of practice.

The events of the second day are similar to the first. There’s an early hike to do yoga with a view, which is run by one of the female counselors who also specializes in fertility, something Catherine and John had mentioned on the hike up. It’s nice to do some relatively low-stress exercise and he can feel Bucky relaxing against him when they start partnered yoga poses.

Steve can feel appreciative eyes on him and Bucky, from husbands and wives alike when they execute some of the more difficult poses flawlessly. Steve feels kind of bad for the couples who are struggling through them, but they also seem to be having fun with it, so he supposes it might even be better for their teamwork. 

They all go back for breakfast before a ‘Treasure Hunt’ game where they sit in a circle and someone announces “I am looking for…” And then says something like: the couple with the most unique hobby they enjoy doing together (Rachel and Charlie make soap), or the couple who has been to the most countries together (It’s a tie between ‘James’ and Steve and Brett and Thomas, and Steve is glad that Bucky’s alias is an interpreter, so they have a reason to have travelled). 

That goes on for a little, tame questions about who travelled the longest to get here (a couple from France that Steve thinks Bucky should go talk to en francais in order to maintain his cover), or which couple could show the counselor the most pictures of them together (with everyone’s phones, it’s too difficult to quantify, and no one notices that he and Bucky aren’t clambering to show theirs, which don’t happen to exist). But then they get more explicit in nature; the other couples turn to the non-straight couples when the instructor asks for the couple with the weirdest sex life. 

Brett, surprisingly, is the one who speaks against the assumption that their sex would be the weirdest, “Just because we stick it in the pooper doesn’t mean what you all do isn’t just as strange. Those French maid costumes are a pretty freaky fetish if you ask me.” The question eventually goes to a couple that admits to enjoying a bit of light bondage, but not after every couple stares at him and Bucky until Bucky chuckles and says that “We’re pretty boring. Sorry guys.”

Steve blushes, not because of the ensuing comments, but because his mind wandered to earlier that morning. Then he’s even redder because they’re asking what couple can kiss for the longest without looking around at the other couples. 

He turns to Bucky with an excuse on his lips, but there’s a challenge in Bucky’s eyes that Steve’s never been able to resist, from Brooklyn to the European Theatre. Then there’s a countdown of 3, 2, 1, and he’s leaning in, and the soft press of Bucky’s lips meeting his stops all thought. 

Everything goes out of his head except the warmth of parted lips and the graze of teeth and a hand fisted in his collar, pulling him closer until he can feel the line of Bucky’s shoulder pressed into his and he opens his mouth under the insistence of Bucky’s tongue swiping at his bottom lip. 

Steve’s just starting to get the hang of it, his own hand cupping Bucky’s jaw, something deep inside him wanting them to be so close that they can feel every inch of hard muscle and every twitch and shiver the other makes. There’s a not-cough and some awed noises and Bucky breaks the kiss; Steve backs off immediately and tries not to meet the wide blue eyes he knows are trained on him. But so are the eyes of the other couples, and someone says, “Boring my ass.” And everyone’s chuckling and they’re moving onto another game; this one is luckily more about getting to know people individually, and he and Bucky are given a reprieve.

Finally there’s a break to decompress before lunch, and some couples go back to their cabins while others stick around. Steve signs to Bucky—using a code developed a long time before the war, before SHIELD—that they should go snoop around while there’s time. Bucky nods and they say goodbye to the other couples, ignoring a few teasing jeers about going off for a quickie. 

“They aren’t going to let us live that down, are they?”

“Just be glad Natasha wasn’t here,” Steve chuckles as they search for basements, hidden passages, and anything that could hide six couples. 

The basement is just a storage area with yoga mats, climbing gear, and canned foods. The climbing gear looks recently used and Steve wonders if it’s a couples’ activity. It hadn’t been on anyone’s schedule that he’s seen, and the repelling gear is advanced. 

Bucky furrows his brow at it, “This is professional stuff. I don’t think they’d use that for beginner climbing.”

Steve wants to think that it’s the Petropoulos’, but those two don’t look like they could climb anything, especially not any of the topography around here. 

“I guess that’s something,” He says, scratching his head and filing the information away for later. He checks his watch and nods to Bucky that they should head back upstairs. Then he hears the door open and he’s throwing Bucky into a closet they had checked—empty—and closing the door quietly behind them just as whoever’s coming down closes the door.

There are two sets of feet thudding down the concrete steps, “I told you we needed to start weeding out the gays and infertility cases. There’s barely anyone eligible, and they’re too old!” The voice is female, the counselor who did the yoga with their group. 

“Look, we could use the money. It’s not like our bosses are throwing limitless resources at us to do what they’re asking for. We can use who we have.” And that’s Doctor Petropoulos, voice heavy with fatigue.

“Ugh. If only we weren’t in liberal-hellhole Vermont. We should move this to the South,” She complains, and Steve can hear the telltale metal clink of her picking up the climbing gear. 

“And get even older clients having problems with the retirement life? Yeah, you pitch that to Malis. See how it goes over.”

“What do you want me to do? Malis took the last couple we picked up. We need another.” Steve hears them getting closer to the closet and Bucky’s breathing is silent against his neck. 

“Just go down and check on them. We don’t need to lose the ones we have to malnourishment.”

There’s a hand on the handle. Steve braces for discovery, until he hears her retort, “You’re going to lose me to malnourishment if you don’t let me take my lunch break first.”

“Fine. Just be down there to check on them right after.”

“You got it.” The climbing equipment is thrown back in the pile, metal clips clanging weakly. Feet go up the stairs and Steve lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in, opening the closet door as they closed the basement door. 

He motions for Bucky to come out after checking that the coast is clear, but Bucky’s kneeling down, fingers between the wall and the carpet, lifting up to reveal a wooden trap door.

“You think that’s where the couples are?”

Bucky lifts the wooden door and shines the light of his phone down the long cavern. 

“I’d say,” He replies, closing it with a grunt, “Come on, we have to go play pretend or our covers are blown.”

His fingers twitch at his sides, all he wants to do is go find those people and help them. But he nods his agreement and offers Bucky a hand up. Bucky doesn’t take it, brushing past him and heading up the stairs with a silent tread. He opens the door and gives the all-clear to Steve, who sighs and follows him out. 

They exit out a side door and come back in the front to make it look as if they’ve come back from their cabin. Steve socializes only superficially, his thoughts occupied with whoever this Malis is and what they’re doing with these couples. What this person was doing to the SHIELD agents. 

The circle begins to gather for group counseling after the last few people finish their food and Steve can’t help but groan. Bucky leans over and whispers in his ear, “We’ll investigate tonight. Just try not to think about it.”

 _How can you not?_ But he supposes Bucky had always been better at compartmentalizing. Even before the war Bucky had been able to not think about the injustices going on around them, simply saying that Steve had enough problems without getting involved in everyone else’s. 

The counseling session passes in a blur; Steve is barely paying attention and he answers almost automatically any question posed to him. Bucky has to tap him on the shoulder to get him to stand up, saying, “They’re playing a movie tonight after dinner. Mock date. Were you even listening?”

The blank expression on Steve’s face must answer for him, and Bucky scoffs, walking away, “And I thought _I_ was being a shitty partner yesterday.” 

Even knowing that Bucky means partner as in mission partner, it still fazes him and he can’t help but freeze up in his seat, jaw clenching and unclenching a few times before he can bring himself to move. 

By then, Bucky’s already in their cabin and Steve can’t think of anything better to do than go hiking the trails, maybe find another entrance to wherever they were keeping the couples.

Get this mission done before any more strange feelings could arise from kissing or touching or anything else. And before whoever was watching those camera feeds figured out that he and Bucky weren’t actually a couple.

_That must be how they got them last time._

Steve hopes he doesn’t have to spend another night feeling watched. Another night as a performance. Because he and Bucky are barely functioning as friends without the added burden of awkwardness borne from this mission. Thank goodness they were taking a sabbatical after this.

Now that he’s thought about it, he hadn’t had this long a vacation since he was chasing Bucky across borders and bridges, only to find the man on his front stoop the moment he stopped chasing him. 

Of course, he hadn’t taken a break until Sam took a bullet for him (courtesy of a Hydra agent), and then he was busy ‘helping’ Sam limp around his house. Sam, of course, was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but tried very hard to make sure that Steve took a break. Even if it meant playing the invalid

Not a day into Sam’s recuperation and Bucky was there, soaking wet in the rain, not even knocking on the door, just standing and staring as if it would open on its own, as if knocking hadn’t been in his programming.

Then it was a month of Bucky walking around Sam’s place like a ghost, barely talking, sleeping on the floor, eating only when told he should. And then he was Bucky again, a shadow of him, but him nonetheless, and it took time but he remembered how to act human, how to sleep on a bed, even if it was Steve’s bed. Another month and they moved out of Sam’s back to New York, still dealing with flashbacks and nightmares, but otherwise okay.

Then Coulson came by, desperately needing Steve’s help for a mission with new SHIELD. But Steve had been out grocery shopping. It was a simple guess who ended up on that mission.

Bucky was gone when he came home. He handled the situation and drank the SHIELD kool-aid. He wanted to help people, not because he loved to or even liked to, but because he felt obligated. Steve’s path was set. Following Bucky through political hoops and bullshit and a return to what he had been doing for the past three years before he encountered the Winter Soldier.

But now there’s hope that they could get out. And that’s what Steve is clinging to, if only they could get through this mission, then there was hope.

His wandering through the paths they were told to avoid on their last nature walk turns up very little except a prickling feeling on the back of his neck, like being watched. There are rock formations that don’t look quite natural to his artist’s eye, too intentionally asymmetrical, as if someone had modified them, realized it looked too neat, then made it too messy to be natural, or even stable.

He snaps a quick picture with his phone and makes his way back to the cabin after seeing the time. Bucky isn’t in the main room. The bathroom door is closed and Steve goes to knock.

“Buck?”

“Out in a sec,” And he really is. Steve expected to hear flushing, the sink running, all the normal bathroom sounds. Bucky comes out with a book. Steve gives him a pointed look, curious. 

Bucky responds with a shrug, “Couldn’t stand the feeling of being watched.”

“So you decided to read in the bathroom?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Apparently my cover has real terrible constipation. Keeps him in the bathroom for hours on end,” Bucky flops back on the bed, discarding the book into his suitcase and reaching for another.

“You should really get one of those e-readers. Or just use the app on your tablet or phone. Keeps you from having to lug five books around in your suitcase.”

Bucky shakes his head, “Some things are sacred, Steve,” he pauses and cocks his head at Steve, “Did you even need to use the bathroom?”

Steve doesn’t answer the question, simply pointing at the clock, “We need to get to our counseling session. Maybe we can find out more about this Malis character.”

“Or we could maintain our damn cover, Steve. We can’t go asking about things we don’t know about. Especially when we can just go look tonight.”

“Tonight after our movie date? After all the couples will be out on a stroll, just waiting to catch us?”

“Steve, no couple with a private cabin stocked with this much lube is going on a stroll after the movie,” Bucky let out a smirk at Steve’s blush.

“So what are we going to be doing when we’re out trying to find these people? Because going on a stroll seems like the best cover.”

“It’s not like they can interrogate us about where we went; that would be revealing that they have cameras on us. And maybe we’re a couple that likes to go for a stroll. You do have the whole white-bread, old soul look to you.”

“I’m ninety-seven. Of course I have an old soul look to me.”

Bucky lets out an exasperated groan, running a hand over his face, “Perfect! We went for a stroll because we are incredibly boring. Now are you ready to go, or do you have to use the bathroom?” Steve holds his chin up and goes to the bathroom even though he doesn’t really have to. Just to hear Bucky tapping his foot impatiently on the wood floor just outside. 

He doesn’t want them to be fighting like this. But at least they’d have something to talk about at their session.

“So, how do you two like the retreat so far?” Petropoulos sits in his armchair across from them where they’re juxtaposed on the couch, lines of tension running through Steve’s body while his ‘fiancé’ remains relaxed. Bucky grabs his hand and pretends to look at Steve in adoration. 

“We just love it. The views are so beautiful, and there are so many great paths to hike.”

“Yeah, when Tim and Erica told us about this, we thought it was too good to be true,” Bucky’s grip tightened painfully, but Steve kept going, “It’s funny, we tried to get in touch with them after they got back to tell them we got reservations, but nada. They must just be off enjoying being together, like everyone else here.”

Petropoulos’ eyes narrow and his expression goes pinched. The portly man is far from good at keeping his feelings out of his face or the sweat that begins to bead at his collar from showing.

He almost splutters before regaining his composure, “Yes, we’ve found that after the privacy of our retreat, couples often sequester themselves away to indulge themselves, even after returning to work and the hustle and bustle of life. And as glad as I am to hear that our clients are doing just that, we’re here for you two.”

“Steve’s always more concerned about others over his own well-being,” Bucky jokes, patting their hands none too gently. 

“Says the man whose job is spitting out other people’s words.” _Doing other people’s dirty work._

“You know I love what I do.” His hand is released, the warmth of Bucky’s hand retreating as quickly as it had come.

“No, you feel obligated to do what you do, because your skills fit that job. Because you feel like you have to use what you’ve got.”

“What do you suggest I do?”

“Follow your passion?”

“Right. Follow my passion like you followed me to SH—New York. Okay. Yeah, I’ll get right on that. Except that I already agreed to take a break and consider different avenues of employment, so I don’t know what bee’s gotten up your bonnet.”

“I’m just saying that you don’t have to work all the time. I feel like I haven’t seen you in months.”

“Because you’ve been home so often. Because you don’t work just as often as I do, obviously,” his tone is so steeped in sarcasm the bluntness of it almost hurts his ears.

“I only do because I can’t stay in the apartment we bought together alone. I was alone for too long... James.”

“Yes, this is good. But perhaps we can work in ‘I feel’ statements, tell each other what we want without the hostility.” _Pacifism coming from the guy hiding couples in his basement?_ Somehow he doesn’t find it funny.

Bucky’s voice still has bite to it, “I _feel,_ that Steve is being hypocritical. He lost himself in work before, when he was having a hard time. Now I’m doing the same thing.”

“It’s unhealthy. That’s... I feel that I did that because I was so... lonely, in a world I didn’t understand or recognize. You heard just how bad I was, how close I was every day to not waking up for the next. Why are you doing the same thing?”

They’re silent for more time than is comfortable, and Petropoulos shakes his head as if he’s got his work cut out for him, “So, do you two think this has any impact on your sex life? Or lack thereof? Because I have the feeling that neither of you did your homework for yesterday.”

Steve at least tries to look sheepish, but Bucky acts nonchalant, “We had a fight. That’s how it usually goes. We’re getting somewhere and then suddenly there’s an ocean of issues between.”

Petropoulos leans forward conspiratorially, as if about to tell some great secret that marriage counselors all over the world hid from their clients, “Now, I understand that it’s difficult, but sometimes the first step is forgetting those issues to learn each other’s bodies again, to remember the pure, hormonal urge that had you falling in love in, Italy, wasn’t it?”

Bucky and Steve nod dumbly.

“Perhaps talking is what creates that ocean for you. If you managed a long-distance relationship, you should be able to fall back in love when you’re right next to each other,” Petropoulos closes his clipboard with finality, “When you get back to your cabin, maybe after the movie when you’ve had time to cool off, try to be intimate. You might be surprised how small that ocean becomes when you’re on common ground.”

“So no talking?”

“Talk about the movie, maybe go for a quiet stroll before to set the mood. Do what you remember had you falling in love in the first place. Hell, act like it’s a first date.”

Petropoulos walks them to the door and they thank him for the advice before heading to dinner, where they preoccupy themselves with being themselves, rather than a couple. Talking like normal people and not Steve-plus-James makes it easier, and the necessity of being quiet during the movie certainly cools them both down.

In the middle of the movie, Bucky leans up to whisper in his ear, “Basement? Pretend like we’re going to go get it on and sneak down there all giggly-like? Then climb down there?”

“On my walk earlier I think I saw where the basement comes out. Maybe we can get them out that way?”

“Let’s just do recon for now. If we can pull off a rescue right away, we’ll try. But we might end up needing back up,” Bucky’s breath is hot on the shell of his ear before he holds his hand out for Steve, who takes it. 

The couple sitting next to them is too preoccupied with making out to notice, and the couples behind them shoot them grins, and they even get a low whistle and a couple sounds that Steve is going to pretend he didn’t hear.

The basement is so close, and the whole couple-sneaking-off act is working great, even if it means Bucky’s hand is on his ass and Steve’s fingers hooked in Bucky’s belt loops.

Of course Bertha Petropoulos would be there, cheery smile and fuchsia lipstick on her teeth as she comes out of her office, right across from the basement entrance where Bucky and Steve are pretending to neck to make sure the coast is clear before they sneak down.

“You know, you have a cabin in which to do that,” She chides, staring them down gently until they detangle themselves and walk towards the cabins.

She watches them from the entrance of the main building, arms crossed over her chest and smile still plastered on.

“Damn.”

Their cabin is one of the first ones, so they have to duck in fairly quickly. Bucky pushes him against the door and pretends to go for his neck, “Do you think there’s any chance that she didn’t go back to her office to watch us fuck?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her; then again we don’t know if she’s in on it.”

Bucky presses a searing kiss against his lips biting down on Steve’s bottom lip and drawing it out, “Then we’d better give the creepy old broad a show.”

“She’s not that old,” Steve protests even as he can feel himself growing harder as Bucky’s hips grind against his.

“Yeah, and I’m not an assassin with a metal arm. You don’t have to defend her, Steve. She may not be evil incarnate, but this damn retreat is creepy as fuck and...” Steve cuts him off with a fist in his hair and a bruising kiss that leaves them both panting.

“Bucky?” Bucky’s eyes are wide across from his, lips red in the best way, “Weren’t we supposed to not talk?”

In response, Bucky digs his hips into Steve’s, and he’s so glad that he’s not the only one who’s achingly hard and desperate for friction, even as he lets out an embarrassing moan. 

“Steve? How long as it been for you?” Their noses are rubbing, bodies flush as they breathe the same air; Steve can’t even think.

“I—was still waiting for the right partner.”

“Shit, Steve. We can’t do this. You were supposed to be with Peggy. This wasn’t—“

“Bucky,” Steve’s firm tone gets Bucky’s attention, “If it were to be anyone... I’d rather it be you.”

The blank stare he’s met with makes Steve worry he’s overplayed his hand, “Besides, it doesn’t have to be anything... invasive. We’re already...” _Harder than I’ve ever been in my life,_ “We can just take care of each other and prove that we did our homework, then pretend to go take a shower and sneak out to look for clues. It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” Bucky repeats, hand traveling down Steve’s stomach, “It’ll be fine.”


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission comes to a peak, among other things.

From there it’s just this side of frantic, breaths hitching and kisses missing lips, uncaring and sloppy in a way that makes him feel like he’s on fire, skin alight with sensation. He can’t help but eye the place where he knows the camera is when Bucky’s hands slip under his shirt, lifting it above his head.

He hates these people for whatever they’ve done to the missing couples. He hates them for ruining this moment for him.

But this wouldn’t be happening if not for them; he wouldn’t be here with Bucky’s hands roaming over his hips, so he takes his eyes off the camera and brings his face back to Bucky’s, savoring the contrast of soft lips and teeth scraping across his own lips. Because this wouldn’t happen again, and Steve would be damned if he didn’t memorize every tiny sigh and sound Bucky let out.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Bucky asks, voice hesitant.

Steve tugs up Bucky’s shirt in response, strangely verklempt that the mesh covers his metal arm. While he could see it, the thin layer between them felt like too much, just another thing to ruin this memory when he would come back to it on lonely nights.

He lets his hands slip under Bucky’s jeans, grabbing his backside and using his strength to press them more firmly together. Bucky’s mouth opens, letting out a surprised gasp that Steve is unduly proud of; the sight of Bucky’s mouth gaping in pleasure sends a spike of heat to his groin and it’s all he can do to press his face to the crook of Bucky’s neck and close his eyes, pressing kisses against the flushed skin as he tries to calm himself down with deep breaths.

Bucky doesn’t go any farther while Steve evens himself out, hands running over his back in vertical lines parallel to his spine, the cool metal of his hand—even through the mesh molded to it—comforting against hot skin.

Steve has had many a fantasy of that hand wrapped around him, and the reality of the metal against his skin doesn’t disappoint. Steve kisses up Bucky’s neck, communicating that he’s ready to keep going, but Bucky’s hands keep stroking slowly over his back as he places a barely-there kiss on Steve’s temple.

He’s never been so glad to have his face hidden, because it crumples in that moment, pain and sorrow and the knowledge that he’ll never be _this_ close to the man he loves again taking over for a split second. His breath catches in his throat but he forces it out and relaxes. 

When he brings his face back to Bucky’s their movements are deliberate, lips lingering and hands slowly meandering over the slopes of each other’s bodies, memorizing the topography of their flesh like battle plans. Bucky’s hands come to Steve’s belt buckle and, while he would like to say that he nodded with the grim determination of a soldier, he is eager in a breathless, desperate way, head bobbing and face flushed with excitement. 

He could swear he hears Bucky breathe out a “Yes,” but Steve is out of his head with lust, all the blood in his body seemingly pumping towards his groin and leaving his head light and lungs lacking proper air. 

With a click of metal and the _shick_ of leather slipping from belt loops, Steve lets himself be led by the same cloth loops to the bed, grateful that he’s being pushed onto its plush surface, grateful that he can feel surrounded on all sides, Bucky blocking out the rest of the world as he forgets the things that aren’t warm skin and tired lips still sneaking back to each other for lazy kisses that are more panting into each other’s mouths and breathing each other in than kissing. 

They’ve unzipped each other’s jeans but it hasn’t gone farther than that, hips still grinding. Steve can’t pretend that he doesn’t want this to last, that he doesn’t love every tender moment, so he can pretend they are Steve and James, almost-married couple, not two friends with an ocean of issues, two friends who would always remain just that. 

Steve knows the high-pitched noise he makes when Bucky’s hand presses down on his erection is pathetic, but the chuckle Bucky lets out isn’t patronizing, but fond. The sort of warm sound that had accompanied many of Steve’s stunts before the serum, and many after. 

It didn’t mean that Steve wouldn’t seek revenge, though, and he digs his fingers in Bucky’s hair, tugging in a way that brings Bucky’s breath hissing out and any other thoughts left in the dust with a searing kiss and Bucky’s hand reaching beneath his waist band and circling around him. 

Steve’s other hand has been on Bucky’s ass for a bit longer than he’d like to admit, squeezing into the round, muscular flesh that he had only been able to stare after appreciatively before. That hand moves to the front of Bucky’s pants, dragging fingertips across the skin under Bucky’s briefs until he can reposition his hand and wrap it around the hard length that had been so insistently pressing against his hip.

They’re content with that for a moment, kisses heating back up, teeth and tongue rising to the occasion, pain mixing with pleasure at the dry friction and over-bitten lips seeking each other again.

It’s too hot and Steve shoves down Bucky’s pants, Bucky automatically doing the same for him. The genius plan fails when Bucky tries to go back to straddling Steve and his pants trap him. Laughing, Steve tries to help Bucky out of them, but his hands are waved away, “Get your own damn pants off, punk.”

Steve obliges, unable to help staring at the flushed cock bobbing up and down comically as Bucky tries to get his pants off.

“It’s not my fault my cover apparently has the fashion sense of a 15-year old skater,” Bucky grumbles. Steve thinks the skinny jeans are far from unflattering, but definitely different from what Bucky had worn in the 40s. 

An ache forms in his chest when he realizes he has no idea what Bucky wears in this century. He’d gone straight from sweatpants to combat gear with no in between, and Steve had seen him so little in the time since Coulson had shown up at their door.

Bucky eventually falls back onto the bed, freeing his feet from the “no good, evil, don’t-even-look-that-good pants,” at last. They’re next to each other, bodies curved like parentheses on the bed, and Bucky gets uncharacteristically shy, forming his throat around the quiet word, “Hey.”

“Hey,” he responds, feeling a flush in his cheeks. While nudity had never exactly been an issue between them, it had been a long time since they were both so close while being naked. Close, and, not to mention, aroused. In fact they had never been this close, except perhaps since that morning’s accidental frottage session.

But then there were clothes in the way. Clothes were good at making things comfortable.

This was new and old all at once; old in that he’s sure he’s thought of this before, then tamped it down, and new in that they’re both on the same page. Hard for each other and equally averting their eyes.

Steve always imagined himself to be brave, a trait that had given him a lot of scraped knuckles and black eyes. But when it came to love—or sex, in this case—he was a coward. Any kisses he had before this had been initiated by someone else, and while he could be brave enough when eyes were closed, going with what his body told him to do, they had stopped, and he couldn’t start again.

A lump catches in his throat.

He feels Bucky’s stare on him and meets his eyes, unable to look away after. Bucky had changed a lot in his time as the Winter Soldier, but Steve could sometimes pretend they were the same as they were. When he sees the shadow over Bucky’s eyes, Steve knows he has to be brave for once, “You’re okay with this, right?”

Bucky laughs, but Steve knows it isn’t genuine, “Yeah, but I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you here. Come on," Bucky scooches in closer, hand meeting Steve’s bicep, thumb stroking up and down in a soothing pattern.

“We can take care of each other, Buck,” Steve admonishes, cupping Bucky’s jaw in both his hands, trying to let him know he was safe. Because Steve may not be experienced, but he’s got enough brains to know that Bucky hadn’t been given a lot of choice in his life. _This should be his choice._

Bucky leans into the touch, placing a kiss on the pad of Steve’s thumb where it lands near his lips, eyes smiling. 

Steve takes that as an invitation and leans in, replacing his thumb with his lips and relishing the way Bucky’s hands automatically reach to cradle his head and caress his hip. He closes his eyes and forgets everything but lips and touch and _want._ Every breath brings them closer until they’re slotted together and Bucky’s hand leaves it’s place branding his hip to wrap around them, giving slow, strong pulls.

Pressing their foreheads together, Steve tangles one hand in Bucky’s hair and, with the other, traces the lines of Bucky’s body to where they’re aligned, closing his hand around Bucky’s, falling into the rhythm with him.

Soon the rhythm is lost, their hips thrusting erratically as Steve wraps his hand around Bucky and Bucky around him, bodies intertwined and sweat mingling as their noses nudge each other, seeking kisses and searing incoherent words into each other’s skin.

Bucky gasps and ducks into the crook of Steve’s neck when he comes, and the only thing he can think is that it’s damn adorable, even though cum is painting his hand and stomach. Steve kisses the top of Bucky’s head and guides Bucky’s trembling hand to Steve’s completion, relaxing against Bucky after the stars have cleared from behind his eyes.

They’re a sticky mess, but Bucky’s face is still warm against Steve’s neck and they’re still curled around each other; Steve can pretend for a moment that it’s going to last.

“That really happened didn’t it?” Bucky says a few minutes later, quiet where he’s now burrowed into Steve’s chest.

Steve hums, “Apparently.” He looks down and Bucky’s looking up at him. This is the point where he hopes something will shift, that his eyes will convey how much he wants this, how much he wants Bucky in every single possible way. 

That’s Steve’s problem. He always hopes, never expecting the worst but the best.

Breaking the eye contact, Bucky untangles himself from Steve, “We should clean up,” He motions towards the bathroom, and Steve’s stomach fills with a nauseous dread. 

Bucky closes the bathroom door, and the room is really too small to hold two grown men—much less two genetically enhanced super soldiers—especially not with the door closed. 

“Do you want to... talk?” Bucky rolls his eyes at Steve’s attempt to read his intentions, aloof and completely different in the fluorescent light than in the afterglow of the bedroom.

“Let’s just shower and be done with this.”

“I can wait out there while you...” Steve gestures helplessly at two places at once, putting his hands down when he realizes he’s making more of a fool of himself.

“Couples don’t shower separately after... that. It’s not normal.” Without another word, he gets in the stall and turns on the shower, not even avoiding the initial cold spray as the water heats up. Steve sighs and joins him, keeping his distance as best as he can in the tiny space. Every time their skin brushes, Steve’s entire body goes rigid. It makes his military shower time a little less than perfect, but Steve can leave about as quickly as he came in, jaw clenched and throat tight as he dries off, walking into the bedroom before he’s really dry.

He feels dirty, wrong. His mouth tastes bitter as he turns off the light and casually throws a t-shirt on the camera before dressing for a rescue mission, secure in the knowledge that this charade would be over soon.

Bucky doesn’t say anything as he comes in and dresses, grunting in approval at the covered camera. They leave, hopefully for the last time, cum still drying on the bed, lips still chapped from kisses not long ago shared.

The entire facility is dark, locked for no good reason—because a facility in the middle of nowhere had no reason to worry about thievery except from local fauna. This is Bucky’s area of expertise, and he gets them in without triggering any alarms.

Eyes adjusted to the dark, they find their way to the basement with little difficulty. Climbing down the shaft to where the couples have presumably been stashed causes an argument through gestures, leading Bucky to just jumping down the shaft recklessly, landing quickly enough that Steve only has a horrifying flashback of the Alps for a moment.

He waits for the telltale shuffle so that he knows Bucky is out of the landing area, and follows. 

The landing area is barely that and the tunnel following is steep and craggy. He can see why they had climbing equipment to get down here. But he and Bucky are able to traverse the treacherous cave with the efficiency of two equally irritated military men. Steve follows Bucky for a little, but ends up shoving ahead of him. It becomes sort of a race, but not the kind with laughs and silly taunts, but the kind with thrown elbows and grim faces and neither participant acknowledging the immaturity of the situation. It lasts long enough to practically become a travelling pushing match, before Steve sees what’s ahead,  
“Bucky, stop.”

“You started it,” he grumbled, and Steve shushed him, pointing to the white glow of artificial lighting ahead.

It’s almost painfully bright, but their eyes adjust as the move closer, caution slowing their steps. They move silently and split across the tunnel, each clinging to one of the sides as they emerge in a quiet area, padding on the white walls dulling the sounds of their feet on the concrete. Quiet except for some sort of screaming. Steve thinks that it’s animals at first, somehow ensconced in this alarmingly sterile underground lab. But then Bucky’s eyes go wide and Steve’s worst fear is confirmed in one horrified word, “Babies.”

“But, the couples have only been missing four months.”

“And you and I exist. Hell, my arm exists. Natalia’s not exactly as young as she looks. You don’t think science is past the point of caring about... gestation now?” There’s an anger in Bucky’s features, drawn in the furrow between his brows and the grim line of his mouth. 

“You’re right.” Steve doesn’t say, _This reeks of Hydra,_ because he’s more than aware that Bucky’s already thinking it.

They draw nearer to the wailing sounds, and Steve sees the first one. The room isn’t all that big, but it’s well lit and has a glass viewing window. The baby is struggling, a boy, with an IV dripping something unpleasant colored into his veins. Steve is walking into the room before he knows it, but Bucky stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t know what unhooking him could do.”

“You don’t know what not unhooking him could do.”

Bucky pulls him away from the door. They go through a hallway of these, babies of varying ages, some nearly toddlers and some newborn, all hooked up to different fluids and in the same bland, colorless rooms. There are more than six and Steve feels nauseous at the idea of any more couples having been involved in this.

Steve’s fists are clenched and he tries not to look, because he knows he’d break the viewing glasses if it weren’t for Bucky’s steadying hand on his shoulder. He’s so caught up in his own anger he doesn’t realize Bucky’s stopped until he doesn’t feel the hand on his shoulder anymore. 

“What’s...?” Steve looks up to Bucky’s face and follows the line of his gaze.

_Oh._

The male halves of the couples—six of them—are trapped in metal tubes, glass revealing their frozen faces, in various states of terror and disbelief. Bucky swallows visibly and it’s Steve’s turn to be the steadying force, hands planted on Bucky’s shoulders and physically turning him away from the cryostasis chambers, “Hey, Buck, come on, look at me.”

Bucky’s eyes snap to Steve’s for a long moment, but are drawn back to the frozen men quickly.

“Do you think they’re still alive? I mean it only worked on me because of the serum... And where are the women?” Bucky’s eyes keep scanning over the expressions frozen on the faces of the men

Steve doesn’t know how to respond except to text their handler, telling them to send in backup. This needed to be shut down. And now.

“I’ll keep looking for them, you just keep watch.”

Bucky grabs his arm, hard, metal digging into his flesh in a way that he’s sure is going to leave bruises, “You don’t seriously think I’m going to keep watch and wait for backup while those guys rot in there?”

Steve sighs and turns away, “You’re right. Free them while I look for the others. 

The grip on his arm doesn’t let up, growing tighter if anything, “I don’t think I can...”

Steve puts a hand on the metal digits, “But what if it’s worse?” He starts, “I mean, what if you can’t handle what they’ve done to the women either?” The metal plates shift under his hand and his arm is relinquished, guilt flashing in eyes made bluer by the harsh light.

“I’ll free the men.” Steve doesn’t have the chance to feel bad about the way he sidelined Bucky because he hears the click of a gun.

“No, you won’t,” a familiar accent lets out, German sliding through in the vowel-shapes. He tries not to think about Schmidt, but when he turns to the source of the voice, the dark hair and keen eyes remind him viscerally of his first interactions with the Nazi. 

“I’m going to assume you’re Malis, then?” Steve attempts to quip, humor leeched from his voice at the blankness in Bucky’s eyes.

“That’s how my current associates refer to me, yes. You can just think of me as a contemporary of Johann Schmidt.” 

_Great. Another Neo-Nazi._ And one who’s too far away to disarm. 

“You know we have backup coming.”

“No, you don’t.” Malis nods to Steve’s phone, “Check.” 

**Message not sent. Try again?** Steve curses under his breath and his hand is flying up to his back, where the shield normally would be, the other hand fumbling the phone back into his pocket. 

“Ah-ah-ah, I wouldn’t do that just yet Herr Rogers.” Steve’s eyebrows fly up and shock hollows a place in his throat, but he feels the mesh mask on his face still, sees its glow on Bucky’s arm. Malis taps the side of his head, next to his eyes.

“You are not the only ones with special lenses.” He feels empty, fear making him light-headed and queasy in a way it hadn’t since before the serum. 

He pulls off the mesh mask and throws it to the ground, “You got me. But unless you can get me right between the eyes and be sure I stay dead I’m gonna guess that you’re not coming out of this one on top.” The stomp of boots in military time down the hall makes Steve reconsider his position, but he stays firm in his tone, poised to duck and run. 

The soldiers round the corner, guns raised and trained on them. Steve can hear Bucky’s fist clench. 

“Oh please, Captain. I have more interesting plans than that. Two different, _working_ versions of the supersoldier serum fallen into my lap? No, I have much more interesting plans than that.” 

Bucky pushes in front of him, “Don’t you touch him.”

Malis lifts his eyebrows, “I won’t. In fact, none of us will. Let’s see if Zola and Pierce left anything behind for me to play with... Hmm, what about Снегопад?” Bucky stiffens, jaw clenching and air puffing out of his nose in heavy breaths.

“Bucky? Buck?” Steve reaches out only to have his hands forced behind his back.

“There’s a free examination room around the corner. I’ll lead you there,” The snake of a man stays behind them, not risking turning his back on the Winter Soldier as he leads them further down the hall. All the soldiers except two are dismissed with a casual flick of Malis’ wrist. The ones left flank them like a skewed version of an honor guard. 

Steve doesn’t see where the women are being held, but he does see more rooms filled with various chambers and laboratories, presumably to create whatever they were testing on those children.

“So what’s your angle, Malis? Trying to reproduce the serum in children? Why not just raid an orphanage?”

“If you think I’m going to give you my villain monologue about all my plans, you are sorely mistaken Captain.” A door is opened by the soldier at his left and Bucky—the Winter Soldier—pushes him in with a rough heave. He scrambles to get up from the clean floor of the smallish room, taking in the emptiness of the room, except for a padded cot that Steve already can tell is bolted to the floor. Nothing to use as a weapon.

Malis throws the Winter Soldier a plastic container, which he catches with ease, “Get a sperm sample. Let’s see if this serum can be bred.” The door is closed on them, the soldiers standing guard outside. Steve can hear Malis on the other side of the window—which he now knows is a two-way mirror and not a window, because he can’t see his captor, just his own panicked expression and the Winter Soldier advancing on him.

He’s pushed down to the cot by his hips, a dark mirror of the way Bucky had pulled him to their bed earlier. Steve swallows past the bile in his throat and pushes the Winter Soldier’s hands away, only to be forced down by his wrists, laid out flat like he was back on Erskine’s machine.

“Bucky, please don’t—” Steve doesn’t think he’s talking to Bucky, but he’s been able to talk him down before, so he has to try. “Buck...” There’s three short taps against his wrist, followed by the finger pressing there, four taps, a press, and a tap. Bucky’s other hand is still wrestling with Steve’s jeans, but Steve stops fighting long enough to pay attention to the Morse code.

 _Steve/go/with/it_ His hands are held down by the metal one and Bucky’s shielded Steve from Malis view with his body, making suitable hand motions as if he were milking Steve for what the scientist had wanted, but communicating with Steve via the metal hand. 

_Called/help/fight/look/real_ Steve resumes his struggling, calling Bucky’s name and begging him to stop, but not really doing much, hoping to god that Bucky had actually called for help. 

He taps something quickly against Bucky’s hand, _plan_ and lets his eyes add the question mark.

_no_

Steve taps back, regretting it even as he codes it, _do/it/real_

Bucky questions him with his eyes, motions stopping long enough for Malis to knock on the mirror. Steve nods minutely, knowing it would be a hell of a lot easier to get this done and have proof of it if backup took too long, or if the call never went out because of a dampener. 

Before Bucky’s hand can slip under the waistband of Steve’s briefs, they hear the gunshots, and Steve rolls out from under Bucky just as Bucky turns to the two-way mirror, metal fist smashing through it to grasp Malis around the neck. Steve’s burst through the barely-reinforced door and knocked the guards’ heads together. Malis drops to the ground, unconscious, just as the guards do the same.

Steve hears a familiar whistle of appreciation, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you two didn’t need any help,” Coulson chuckles, unloading his empty clip from his glock. 

Bucky’s friendship with Coulson had bloomed in their work together, and Bucky snipes back a familiar response, biting and sarcastic in the way that he would only use among friends, “We had ‘em on the ropes.” A few people in combat gear were already clapping Malis in handcuffs and dragging him off to who knows where.

Coulson looks between the two of them, “Sure you did,” he holds the silence for a moment before filling them in, “We had all the couples evacuated from the main part of the resort, citing a gas leak, and we’ve freed the men from cryostasis and they don’t seem to have suffered any long-lasting effects thus far. However, the women are in medically induced comas, at various stages of rapidly-gestating pregnancies. We’re airlifting them to SHIELD medical along with their spouses and the children, where we’ll figure out the best course of action for them. Our agents were among their number.”

“We’re going to station scientists and agents here to figure out what Malis was doing,” Coulson continues, “Though hopefully interrogation will be successful in revealing his agenda.”

“And us?” Steve asks, speaking up for the first time since Coulson and his people had arrived.

“You requested a sabbatical and you’ve earned it. You’ll have a debriefing tomorrow at 0800 in my office beforehand, but then you’re free to do whatever it is superheroes do on sabbatical. I’d give Tony a call; I’m sure he owns enough islands and timeshares he’d be willing to lend for your use.” One of his agents is waiting patiently for Coulson to finish with them, and Coulson turns away. He and Bucky take it as the dismissal it is.

“Oh and Steve?” Steve turns around, meeting Coulson’s glance, which quickly pans down to his still-opened pants. Steve hurriedly zips them and gives what he hopes is a grateful nod. 

Bucky sniggers and Steve ruffles his hair and receives a jab to his side for his troubles. 

_Just maybe,_ he thinks, _We’re going to be okay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't nearly as good as it should be and it took way too frigging long to write. sorry.  
> i promise i'll do another chapter today if I can and that will be the end of it.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky recover from their mission.

The plane ride back is long and an unnecessary stop-over in Boston makes them both grumpy as the plane idles on the tarmac. They’re not in a private SHIELD jet this time either. The smallness of the plane means that they don’t have to sit next to another passenger, but it certainly lacks the luxury of a larger plane. They’re both starving when they get to LaGuardia, and they wolf down pancakes at a diner before they take the subway to SHIELD headquarters. They had left most of their covers’ clothes in the cabin at the retreat, just taking their backpacks of their own belongings, figuring that SHIELD would find the clothing assigned to them and cycle the clothes back into their annals of gear for undercover operations. 

“Couldn’t Coulson have waited for us to go home and get sleep before a debriefing?” Bucky whines as they’re waved in by Roberta, the security guard on duty at the front desk. 

“He didn’t get to go home and sleep either,” Steve admonishes, glad that he managed to grab a few hours of fitful sleep on the plane.

“Yeah, yeah.” 

The elevator dings and they step off, and walk into the office after the secretary says, “He’s ready for you.”

Steve shrugs and holds the door for Bucky, who claps him on the shoulder on the way by. Coulson is neck deep in paperwork, glasses barely staying on the bridge of his nose. He holds up a finger in a gesture telling them to wait. They’ve sat down and exchanged amused glances by the time he puts down the brief he’s reading and hands them files.

“Overnight we unhooked the children and mothers. The mothers should be fine, a few have chosen to get rid of their pregnancies, but the late term ones are going through with it. The fate of the children is still in the air, but whatever happens to them, SHIELD will be monitoring them for the rest of their lives.”

“Any idea what Malis was pumping into them?”

“Something like the serum, where cell growth was accelerated. But after taking them off the IVs Malis had them on, cell growth returned to normal. It seemed a constant intake was needed for the kind of rapid growth the babies were going through. If Malis had perfected his drug, I assume it would have been able to work continuously without being pushed out by the metabolism.”

“Have the parents decided to take responsibility for them? Or will they be going into foster care?” Bucky asks, flipping through the photos of the children, smiling and swaddled in SHIELD’s hastily put together maternity ward. A far cry from the sterile environment they had had to suffer through before.

“A few of the couples have already made their plans to leave them in our custody. It also seems that a few of them are going their separate ways after this unfortunate experience. We aren’t sure yet if we will put them in direct foster care. Some agents have already expressed that they themselves or their family members have had a hard time adopting. It would be ideal to continue monitoring them. Who knows, they might one day be exceptional agents themselves.”

Steve bites his tongue on the comment that this is close to what Malis probably wanted. His own army of supersoldiers. He holds back what he really wants to say, because that’s why the U.S. had sponsored Project Rebirth anyways, why he was even here, “So long as you’re just monitoring them. These kids have been through enough, and are damn lucky they won’t remember anything.”

“Of course. I understand that eugenics was something that was on the table for both sides of the war you fought in, but that won’t be allowed here.”

A brusque nod and a handshake and they’re almost out the door, ready for freedom—or, more importantly, sleep.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Coulson gets up from around his desk and hands them a flash drive, which Bucky takes, “Some files from the retreat you might be interested in. All deleted from SHIELD; this is the only copy.” 

“Thanks, Phil,” Steve says. 

“There’s a car waiting for you two to take you back to your apartment. Have a good vacation.”

They leave after a few more pleasantries, and Steve has to grab his laptop from his SHIELD locker, and Bucky remembers something he was supposed to give his handler after his last mission, but they eventually make it out of the building and to the nondescript black car without further interruptions. 

Bucky’s fallen asleep by the time they get to the apartment, and Steve nudges him awake reluctantly. 

Once they get in the apartment, all he gets is a “Night Steve,” before Bucky’s passed out in his own room. Steve chuckles and follows suit, forgetting the flash drive thrown carelessly onto the kitchen counter in favor of sleeping the day away.

When he wakes up it’s past seven in the evening and he can hear muffled swearing from the kitchen, “Bucky?” He yawns. 

“Hey,” Bucky says from where he’s crouched, trying to get the right pan out from the cabinet. After more clanging, he’s finally pried it from between the other pans and triumphantly plunked it down on the stovetop, liberally spraying it with cooking oil before putting in the two bags of food he’d had on the counter, liberated from the freezer.

“I assume you’re hungry?” Bucky asks, stirring around the frozen pasta and meat and sauce on the skillet, willing them to heat up. 

“Yeah,” Steve answers absentmindedly, eye drawn to the flash drive before getting distracted by Bucky making a mess of the stovetop.

“Want me to steam some broccoli?” Steve’s already pulled out the broccoli crowns, but after smelling the state of them, he realizes they belong in the trash and pulls out frozen peas instead. Not the thoroughly aged ones they use for bruises, but the ones for eating. 

They maneuver around each other in the kitchen easily, working as a team better than they had on the mission. 

“What are we going to do for two months?” Bucky shakes his head with a tone of disbelief before taking a gulp of his beer. Two months felt like an infinity stretched out before them, and Steve was wondering the same thing.

“Well, I don’t fancy calling up Stark like Phil said to, but maybe the whole vacation thing isn’t such a bad idea. Go see the world—as tourists.”

“Do I get to wear tube socks and carry a giant camera?”

“To your heart’s content.”

They discuss potential places to go, things they’ve always wanted to see. Steve writes all the ideas down on the kitchen pad—good and bad. Alaska, the Grand Canyon, and Europe are given giant checkmarks while the World’s Largest Ball of Yarn is crossed out the moment it hits the paper, much to Bucky’s discontent. 

After dinner finishes heating up, they sit at the breakfast nook, spilling sauce over the pad more times than he’d care to admit in fierce gesticulations and minor food fights involving peas that Bucky is certain are from the bruise bag. Once the dishes are cleared, Steve pulls out his laptop, booking flights and hotels—or trying to—and arguing with Bucky over prices and number of rooms. Bucky argues that they shouldn’t be spending extra money on another bed when one of them can just take the floor or the chair and Steve retorts that Bucky’s a cover hog. 

Bucky brandishes the flash drive that had been sitting—heretofore ignored—on the counter, “Bet there’s footage on here that proves I’m not.”

“Really Buck?” Grinning, Bucky sticks it into the USB slot, and types in his authorization code when prompted. Steve puts a hand over his face.

Bucky scans through the file names, pulling up a PDF labelled _Session Notes, Steven and James._

“The fake doctor took real notes?”

“I think he was a real psychiatrist. He just happened to be an evil one,” Steve chuckles at the first comment, _Both halves of the couple stubborn. May pose problem._

Bucky laughs, pointing lower on the scan of the hand-written notes, “Get a load of this, _Issues with communication. Didn’t set out boundaries when they began the relationship, now faced with two different paths in life,_ How star-crossed.”

“Okay, Mr. I-want-twenty-kids.”

“I never said twenty kids. And that was my cover anyways.”

“Let’s see what the rest of the files are.” 

There’s one called _Cabin Two Footage,_ and Bucky clicks on it before Steve can advise against it, “This’ll prove once and for all that I’m not a...” The footage clicks onto them entering the cabin and Bucky pinning him against the door, “Cover hog.”

Steve tries to exit the window, “We shouldn’t watch this.”

“Why not? We did it. I bet it’s therapeutic or some shit. Help us get over unresolved feelings or some other psychobabble.” Steve’s entranced by the way their bodies are moving together, so much so that he doesn’t realize Bucky is staring at him. 

“Steve,” He hears Bucky get up and finally tears his eyes away from the screen, his pupils probably blown wide and arousal written in the way he unconsciously licks his lips. But he tries to calm himself down enough to talk with Bucky, forcing thoughts of Bucky’s body hot against his into the back of his mind.

But Bucky’s irises are just a sliver of light around pools of black and his mouth is open, lips wet and shiny as if they’d just been licked, and Steve can’t help but step closer, mind whirling in a mess of panic and lust, made hopeful by the fact that Bucky’s moved towards him too. 

Steve’s heart thuds in his chest and they’re close enough that their hands bump at their sides. Unwilling to take a more extreme step, Steve hooks his index fingers in Bucky’s—both flesh and metal—swaying them back and forth as their fingers dance over each other, nervous energy in both of their bodies, eyes flicking between lips and the floor like it’s going out of style. Tiny steps bring them closer and closer until their lips are millimeters apart and they can no longer deny what they want, lips seeking heat and softness, Steve’s hands cupping Bucky’s jaw to deepen the kiss, to get his hands on that stubble that had been catching his eye all evening. 

He feels Bucky’s hands on his hips and there’s no paradise like the heat coiling in his center and Bucky’s hips moving small circles against his, “Steve,” Bucky gasps.

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve says between kisses, unable to tear himself from those pouting lips.

“Steve, stop.” He’s firm and Steve backs off, hands and lips to himself, when Bucky asks, “You don’t really want this, do you?” 

And Steve’s heart breaks; it’s all he can do to shake his head, “God, no. This is all I’ve wanted.”

“God don’t say things like that. If you were already someone who—but I’m not good Steve I can’t be that person for you.” Bucky backs away but Steve grabs his hands, pulling him back.

“Bucky, you’re the first person I ever wanted and the first person I think of when I wake up and the last person I think of before I go to sleep. Metal arm or not, it’s still you. You’re my everything.”

“I—No, Steve. I was always the one pining for you, not the other way around. Don’t twist up my memories like that.” Steve props a hand under Bucky’s chin, forcing his eyes to Steve’s.

“It’s true.” They’re still close, and that’s all it takes for Bucky’s mouth to be back on his, fueled with desperation and decades of unrequited desire finally come to fruition.

Steve lets Bucky take the reins from there, so zoned out on pleasure he hardly notices the words Bucky intersperses with his kisses, “Wanted you so bad,” a hickey sucked against Steve’s neck, “Most beautiful thing,” a bruising kiss and a hand in his hair that makes him see stars, “Fuck, wanna make you feel so good.”

Steve knows these intimacies aren’t meant to be replied to, but as he grows harder and the movement of their bodies grows rougher, Steve can’t help but voice an idea that had haunted his fantasies, “I want you to fuck me, Buck.”

Bucky’s words and kisses stop and he pulls back, “Steve are you...” Steve interrupts him with his teeth tugging against Bucky’s earlobe.

He whispers breathlessly against the shell of Bucky’s ear, “I’ve never been so sure in my life.”

Chuckling, Bucky presses feather-light kisses against Steve’s neck, “You’re lucky I stole lube from the retreat.”

“Your room then?” Steve grins, nervous but excited, pulling Bucky through the apartment by his hips, resuming kisses until Bucky places his hands on Steve’s biceps, squeezing lightly.

“Calm down there. We’ve got all the time in the world,” Bucky proves just that, pushing Steve against the nearest wall and taking him apart with a kiss so slow and deep he’s shuddering by the end of it. He hadn’t even realized he had moaned Bucky’s name until the kiss is broken and Bucky’s thumb is running across Steve’s bottom lip in a caress that sends heat straight to Steve’s groin. 

Steve lets his lips close around the digit, sucking on the skin as if he could memorize the ridges that made Bucky unique, the bluntness of the nail on the underside of his tongue. It’s Bucky’s turn to shudder, and Steve grins as Bucky’s thumb leaves a wet trail down his chin. 

“Fuck, Steve.”

“That’s the point,” Steve mutters, nuzzling against Bucky’s hand for lack of other touch. The fond smile he receives in return is more than prompting enough for Steve to place a kiss against those calloused knuckles. 

“That whole bedroom idea was a great one, ya know?” Bucky says, almost out of breath, tugging at Steve’s hands.

“I thought you said we had all the time in the world, Buck?” Steve teases, leaning back against the wall and bringing Bucky with him, licking his lips in a motion he sees Bucky’s eyes follow. 

But Bucky isn’t against playing dirty.

He walks into Steve’s space, putting his legs around Steve’s in a power play that makes Steve buck his hips up into him. Dragging his lips from the base of Steve’s neck to his jaw, Bucky’s hand presses into Steve’s erection, relieving friction and making Steve flush, “If you,” His teeth scrape against Steve’s jaw and he lets out a hitched breath, “Go into my room,” His voice drops and sounds against the shell of Steve’s ear, “And spread yourself out for me,” The hand on Steve’s dick presses down again and Steve suppresses a whimper, “Then I’ll get my hands in you and make you come so many times you’ll beg me to stop.” 

Steve is torn between pretending to resist and running into Bucky’s room like a loyal dog. Bucky’s lips brush against his before Bucky puts a good three feet between them, leaving Steve feeling bare and cold.

He turns and heads toward Bucky’s room regardless, excitement only heightened by Bucky’s hand coming to the small of his back and guiding him, because that let him know that Bucky was just as eager for this, aching for Steve just like Steve ached for him.

Still, Steve follows Bucky’s instructions, automatically going to Bucky’s bed and lying back, spreading his legs in a way he hoped looked come hither despite the fact that he was wearing baggy sweatpants and a white tee-shirt. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind. He grabs a bottle from his bag and throws it onto the bed next to Steve, crawling between Steve’s legs with a Cheshire grin and a, “I seriously didn’t get rid of that shirt yet?” Steve takes the hint and pulls off his own shirt, staring at the expanse of flesh revealed as Bucky takes off his own.

Tugging at the waistband of Steve’s sweatpants, Bucky lays a kiss on every inch of skin exposed, avoiding the aching hard erection Steve was sporting, just to torture him. When Bucky had finally laid a kiss on both his ankle joints and his sweatpants were discarded on the floor, Steve quips, “Thought you were going to make me come?”

Bucky crawls back up to Steve’s level and gives him a kiss, “Couldn’t make it that easy, could I?”

Steve ruts his hardness into Bucky’s, “You just keep making it harder and harder.”

“Double entendre, I’m swooning,” Bucky bites back, uncapping the bottle of lube and heating up a sizeable portion between his human fingers.

“Are you ready for this?” Bucky asks seriously, one hand caressing Steve’s knee and the other poised where Steve had propped himself up on a pillow, legs spread open.

Steve answers by leaning up and pulling his lover—the damn love of his life—into a kiss as he tugs on Bucky’s wrist, pushing that hand towards his entrance. Up to the first knuckle of the index finger burns despite the lubrication, but he wiggles around it and adjusts, finding his balance, “Keep going,” He whispers into Bucky’s mouth, relishing how the burn to the second knuckle dissolves into a pleasant, filled sensation, and how sparks of pleasure burst against his eyelids when Bucky probes for that spot, and finds it. 

“Yes, there, more.” It’s not long before Bucky’s scissoring two fingers into him, then three, and Steve could come just on this, untouched, when Bucky curls his fingers up into that place again. But Steve can see Bucky’s aching hard, and having all the time in the world doesn’t mean they have to _use_ it.

“I want you inside me, Buck.” Is all it takes for Bucky to be slicking himself up, leaving him empty before lining their bodies together and trading sweaty, nervous kisses while they wait for their hearts to stop beating so damn fast.

“Come on, I want it, please,” Steve whines into his mouth as Bucky’s blunt head hesitates at his entrance again. He lifts his hips impatiently and Bucky chuckles, placing a gentle kiss at Steve’s temple before steeling himself for the tight heat of Steve’s hole.

They’re both overwhelmed with sensation, each slow inch that Bucky sinks into him. By the time Bucky is fully seated inside him they’re both overstimulated and panting into each other’s mouths, sloppy kisses leading to a, “Move, Buck, I ain’t got all day.”

And the slick pressure of Bucky moving within him is sweeter than the kisses placed on the corners of his lips as Bucky checks that Steve is okay. It doesn’t take long for their slow rhythm to become harried and inelegant, spurred on by blind lust and Steve’s urging. 

“Want you to come first,” Bucky mutters against his chest, unwittingly reaching between them with his metal hand to jack Steve off. Steve comes within three strokes, mouth open against Bucky’s, breathing in the same air as Bucky’s hips stutter between them and Bucky comes, hot and hard inside him. 

They stay poised like that for a moment, breathing into each other’s mouths and sighing tired words into each other’s lips. 

Eventually the position becomes uncomfortable, and Bucky slides out of him, leaving Steve feeling empty, Bucky’s cum leaking out of his ass into the bedspread. Steve feels a secret thrill knowing that part of Bucky is inside him, and smiles gratefully when Bucky grabs a wet cloth from the bathroom to clean off his stomach.

They lay still, bodies curved towards each other for a while, eventually getting under the covers, suddenly very tired. 

Voice fogged with sleep, Bucky hums “Love you, Stevie.”

Smiling, Steve presses a last kiss to Bucky’s lips before closing his eyes, giving into sleep, “Love you too, Buck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't even edit this sorry i'm tired  
> BUT IT'S DONE  
> I FINISHED WOO  
> yeah the endings cheesy it's early in the morning i don't even care

**Author's Note:**

> undercover married fics are my fave so I decided to write one in my infinite spare time  
> (no seriously i have no spare time I'm sorry this is going to be updated super sporadically)


End file.
